


Details Small As Stardust

by goldenteaset



Category: Fate/Grand Order, Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, Sad and Sweet, Set during Cosmos In The Lostbelt, Slice of Life, descriptions of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22943431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldenteaset/pseuds/goldenteaset
Summary: Even after knowing Saber and Gilgamesh for years, Diarmuid always notices new things about them.
Relationships: Gilgamesh/Arturia Pendragon/Diarmuid Ua Duibhne | Gilgamesh/Saber/Lancer
Comments: 12
Kudos: 46





	Details Small As Stardust

**Author's Note:**

> Hallo! I took a break from writing A Demanding Heart to...write about DiarturiaGil again, but more melancholy this time. Cosmos in the Lostbelt looks to be a emotionally-fraught ride, so it seems fair Diarmuid would have some feelings about that. (At least he's still with Gil and Saber here!)
> 
> Disclaimer: I don't own FGO.

Even after knowing Saber and Gilgamesh for years, Diarmuid always notices new things about them.

Just little details, really: the slight part in Saber’s bangs that exposes her forehead. Gilgamesh’s tendency to lift his little finger when holding a winecup. The way Saber’s eyes glow like emeralds and her pupils narrow to slits when truly angry—not unlike Gilgamesh’s gaze like crimson fire, in fact. How they both reach out to him at battle’s end, both so hesitant it’s almost painful. (They’re far less hesitant about checking him for wounds; with how they fuss over him, they could put a flock of hens to shame.)

Those details are as small as stardust, but worth cherishing regardless. After all, even stardust fades one day. The good Doctor Roman taught him that.

\---

This morning, Diarmuid wakes with twinned body heat on either side of him, and notices that Gilgamesh is warmer than Saber. More specifically, he’s like the sun made flesh, almost sweltering. _Now to free myself without waking either up…_

Moving slow as a snail, checking for the slightest quickening of breath, Diarmuid inches most of the way out of the smooth cotton sheets—before realizing he _could_ have turned into Spirit Form to make this easier. Then he does, floating like a gentle breeze over to the bedside table to check the time on the strange little holographic clock. _4 AM on the dot, good! My streak continues._

In some ways, things are still the same as they were in Chaldea. Gilgamesh and Saber will sleep for many hours yet, as one expects of kings. As a knight, Diarmuid has his own habits he aims to keep. _Though in the Shadow Rover, time feels…strange._

He glances around the small greenish-white room for his clothes and heaves a sigh. In Chaldea, they were used to having no windows, but in this cramped locomotive everything seems smaller now. More claustrophobic. _It’s a miracle no one has punched a hole through the walls yet to get a whiff of fresh air..._ A wry grimace. ... _Perhaps today will be the day…_

That is hardly important. Being dressed and ready for combat at any time _is_.

Finding his clothes is easy in such close quarters. But dressing takes forever; he snaps his head around to peer at the bed every time someone groans. Unfortunately, that happens more often than it used to. With the Lostbelts looming constant in the distance, they’ve fought harder than ever—and despite Servants’ hardiness, with limited resources injuries take longer to heal. Gilgamesh cracked a rib yesterday, and Saber…

_…No, put such things out of mind. Saber’s arms are knitting back together nicely, as expected._ Diarmuid rubs his belly and winces at the lingering twinge in his guts that follows. _We will all heal in time._

Once his belts are snug against his trousers and his Master’s gift of dog tags hang from his neck, he should be ready for breakfast. (He’ll bring his lovers’ later to share in bed, a rare luxury these days.) And yet, as he stands before the door, he turns and admires them one last time.

Saber, almost hidden by Gilgamesh’s muscled form save for the golden glint of that stray hair that never stays down. The slight hitch in Gilgamesh’s slow breaths to accommodate his rib. How long will he remain here to see such things? How much time do they have?

_At least a little longer,_ Diarmuid prays, as the door _hisses_ shut behind him like an icy wind, _That’s all I ask._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! :D Feedback is appreciated.


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